In The End
by blueandblack
Summary: Jacob/Bella, post-Eclipse, ignores Breaking Dawn.


He walks down dark and dusty streets for a hobby, leaves her behind at every corner.

She's always there waiting for him at the next one.

_Bella_

He thinks a lot, too much, scribbles some of it down, reads it back to himself while he walks a lot, too much.

Jacob hates imprinting.

_SamandEmily, JaredandKim, QuilandClaire, Jacobandsomebodyheneverwantstomeet._

He hates it, he does. But sometimes it sings sweetly to him in the hum of the yellow taxi-cabs, in the laughter of girls tumbling out of night-clubs, because at least it makes sense.

It's a ridiculous idea, something every college graduate in this illustrious city would scoff at, an improbable relic that should exist only in campfire superstition, but it _makes sense. _

Imprinting is simple and clear and linear, and Jacob's never felt it, never wants to feel it, but he understands it better than he understands this endless, bitter tugging, this constant push-pull, here, there, everywhere.

_I want to forget her I don't want to forget her_

_She loved me but she didn't want me but she wanted me but she didn't love me enough_

Imprinting makes a whole lot more sense than _this_.

-----

It's been years – Jacob knocks out _five, six, seven, eight_ on a tabletop - and he works at a bar no one ever comes into, writes things that no one will ever read.

_Dear Bella, I fucking hate you, I can't get the taste of you off my tongue and I –_

_I could have made it good for you, living, being warm, wet, tears and other things, there are all these things we could have done, you would have loved them, loved me, it would have been -_

_This isn't even a letter, don't panic, do you panic now? What's hysteria without a beating heart? Do you even -_

_I love you I love you I love you… _

He dates in 2011, he dates relentlessly. It's empty no matter how much he tries to fill it, fill _them._

_there are all these things we could have done _

He phases occasionally, once in Central Park just for the hell of it (it was three am and no one was around).

-----

He walks down dark and dusty streets for a hobby, leaves her behind at every corner.

She's always there waiting for him at the next one.

_Bella_

When he blinks out of the dream and she's still there, he thinks _That's it, I'm not just eccentric anymore, I'm the flat-out crazy guy._

"Jacob."

Her lips tremble palely and she sags against a post-box.

_This isn't even a letter, don't panic_

"Bells," he says, like he's talking to a friendly ghost.

_Casper, yes, and she's white as a sheet, white and broken like tea-cups, a little porcelain doll and - _

She's crying.

_warm, wet, tears and other things_

"I've been looking for you for _so long._"

Her voice is weak, weary, holds an accusatory edge he should probably be pissed about, or at the very least find hilarious.

He just coughs up words. "I've been waiting for you."

_Hiding out, waiting for the vampire shoe to drop into my lap, dreading… her, not you, not this, you're -_

He tries to frown and smile at the same time. It's tricky. Half a sentence only makes it messier.

"But I thought you'd be…"

She stumbles forward, reaches for his shoulders, presses her soft cheek to his chest and he can feel her heart thrum against him, beats slipping easily between his.

Jacob drops his papers, gives it all to the wind.

Bella gives herself to him.

-----

It's been weeks – Bella counts out the bliss, _five, six, seven, eight_ – and they work at a bar no one ever comes into, she breaks glasses that have never been used.

She looks a little older than him now, which after all, is how it was always supposed to be. He stops phasing when she starts obsessing over an imaginary wrinkle and spends a week's pay in three minutes on something called _La Mer._

They make love after two days when they'd promised each other at least two weeks to adjust.

The way her body yields to his –

_tiny sparks chasing after his hands on her skin, and her breath, quick, tight when his hips still, dip, drive again, and words, half-words, vowel-sounds, all senseless, all raw, spilling out of her lips without warning _

- soaks out the last stain of doubt that he never, ever had.

Bella giggles under the sheets, smiles and pulls his arms over hers, wriggles against him with a sigh that's soft and wicked, because she loves this, she loves him.

Jacob grins, says he knew all along she'd come back to him like this, and they both believe it even though it's a lie.

He kisses her slowly, tugs her lips into his, takes her teeth, her tongue.

She fills him, she empties him, push-pull, here, there, everywhere.

Endless, in the end.


End file.
